


Call On Me, Neighbour

by randomdreamer01



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Humor, One Shot, Romance, and because it's me it turned a bit angsty, the single parent au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 23:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10559438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomdreamer01/pseuds/randomdreamer01
Summary: There is a little boy standing alone in front of number 3B.From all his years of living in this apartment building, Cassian has seen all manner of things: a mad man running around naked on the stairs; a woman smoking weed behind the reception desk; a parrot that only swore in Russian. But he is pretty sure he has never seen achildbefore.--In which Jyn is a struggling single parent, Cassian is very bad at interpreting signs, and having an attractive neighbour is a lot more complicated than it looks..Partially inspired bythis Tumblr post





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Meet the Neighbours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10323461) by [guineapiggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineapiggie/pseuds/guineapiggie). 



> I blame Tumblr and **guineapiggie** 's "Meet the Neighbours" for this. Jyn as a young, single mother sounds like an unbelievable concept, but this story just came to me and I had no option but to write it down. This is not my best work, guys, but I still hope you will enjoy it. Also, shout out to the Big Little Lies' soundtrack which I listened to non-stop while I was writing this.
> 
> Please leave a review if you can!

_It wasn’t love at first sight. It took a full five minutes._

**Lucille Ball**

* * *

 

_A man and a woman have each other, baby_

_To find their way in this world_

_I need you, darling, like the fish needs the sea_

_Don't take your sweet, your sweet love from me_

.

.

.

There is a little boy standing alone in front of number 3B.

It takes a while for Cassian to fully register what he is seeing. He arrives at the landing and is about to unlock the door to his room (number 3A), but the sight of the boy stops him in his tracks. From all his years of living in this apartment building, he has seen all manner of things: a mad man running around naked on the stairs; a woman smoking weed behind the reception desk; a parrot that only swore in Russian. But he is pretty sure he has never seen a _child_ before. 

Cassian hesitates. He considers simply unlocking his own door, going inside his room and leaving the child right where he is; he has always been rubbish with children. But, in the end, curiosity gets the better of him. 

Somehow, it always does. 

“Um…hey,” Cassian calls out. 

The child turns. He looks about five or six years old, with curly dark hair that frames his chubby face and a pair of very, very startling green eyes. 

“Hello,” says the boy. 

“Um…are your parents around?” 

The boy shakes his head. 

“Okay…um…are you alone?”

The boy shakes his head again. 

Cassian almost curses aloud, but stops himself just in time. 

“Well, do you live here?” He jerks his thumb towards number 3B which, up till last week, has been occupied by a woman in her late fifties who believes her cats are Egyptian kings reborn. 

The boy nods.

“Okay.” Cassian moves a little closer. “Did you just move in?”

The boy nods again.

Cassian crouches down so that he is at eye-level with the child. “Okay. Um…who do you live with, little man? Your dad? Your mom?”

“My mama,” says the boy. 

“Alright. Where…um…where is your mama now?”

The boy shrugs and the gesture is a little too careless for a five year-old. “She’s busy.”

“Okay…um…” Cassian scratches his beard. Oh god, what has he gotten himself into? “What is your name then?”

“Max! Get away from that man!”

It is a woman - a _very_ tiny woman at that - with a strong British accent. She is barging up the stairs with three bags of groceries in her arms. Cassian quickly notes how her eyes are the same colour and shape as the child’s, but unlike them, hers are blazing at Cassian as though she wants nothing more than to zap him dead right then and there. 

Cassian immediately gets to his feet. “I was just - ”

“Max, what did I tell you about talking to strangers?” says the woman. She marches up to her son and nearly drops a grocery bag in the process. “I told you to wait. Not to make friends with some random man.”

“A random man? Well, that’s hardly fair,” says Cassian, unable to stop himself. “I was the one who talked to him first. He barely said three words to me.” 

“And you are?” 

“3A.” Cassian points to his own door. “Your…um…your neighbour.” 

The woman’s eyes narrow. She is pretty, Cassian realises. Very pretty. All brown hair, fiery eyes and with a very determined curve to her lips. That outfit she has on - a pair of black tights, a short plaid skirt and a turtle neck sweater - does her all sorts of favours. He has to remind himself to focus, and to bring his gaze back up to meet her accusatory glare. He can already imagine his best friend Kay rolling his eyes at the scene. 

“What do you want?” demands the blazing woman in front of him.

“Um…I saw him standing alone and just wanted to make sure he’s okay.”

“What are you? Child welfare?”

“Police officer, actually.” 

“Oh.” For a second, she looks flustered. “Well, I didn’t leave him alone on purpose - ” 

“I didn’t say you did - ”

“ - I forgot my keys in the car so I went down to - ”

“ - well, maybe you shouldn’t have snapped at me - ” 

“ - and I’ve _told_ him about not talking to strangers - ”

“Mama, it’s okay,” interrupts Max. He tugs on the sleeve of her sweater while glancing over at Cassian. “He was nice.”

“Max, I’m sure someone who’s looking to kidnap you would make sure he came across as _nice._ ”

“Kidnap?” cries Cassian. _What is it with this woman?_ “Wait a minute - you can’t just throw that accusation around!”

“Well, we’re new to this town and this building. I’d appreciate it if you didn't scare my son!”

“Oh, I think he scared _me_!” says Cassian, his voice rising. “And you know what? If this is your attitude, then I won’t bother to help in the future!” 

“Fine!” 

“Fine!”

“Come on, Max.”

“But, Mama - ”

“Do as I say, Max!” She thrusts the keys into Max’s hand. “Open the door.” 

She throws one last angry look at Cassian, making him huff in frustration. He unlocks number 3A and bangs the door shut behind him much louder than is necessary.

Damn it. He thinks he might be better off with the crazy lady with her ten cats after all.

 

* * *

 

The next time Cassian encounters his neighbours in 3B, it is three days later, on a Sunday afternoon. He is coming back from his run, and as he jogs through the gate, he is met with a soccer ball hitting him hard on the thigh. 

Max, face flushed, appears into view, his eyes widening at the sight of Cassian. 

“Is this your ball, little man?” asks Cassian. He controls the ball with a deft touch and passes it back to the child. 

Max just stares. 

“Max, what did I say about being polite?” cries another voice. Cassian pushes his fringe out of his eyes and notices the boy’s infuriating mother sitting on the apartment stairs. “Say thank you, Max.” 

The woman is not looking at Cassian. Instead, she has her eyes trained on her little son. 

“Thank you,” Max mumbles to Cassian.

Max looks incredibly shy, giving Cassian the impulse to smile. He has always hated precocious children - children who talk too much and say whatever is on their mind. But Max…well, children like Max remind him too much of himself when he was little. He could ignore the child because of this reason, but he is not _that_ level of heartless. At least not yet. 

“Do you like football, Max?” asks Cassian. 

“Yes,” replies Max quietly. “But people here call it _soccer.”_

“Ah, yes, but it’s really called football, you know.” 

“That’s what I keep telling him,” says the woman with a huff.

Cassian looks up, surprised. Wait - is the woman being nice to him? Is she even _agreeing_ with him? 

She seems to catch his startled expression, and shrugs apologetically. “The rest of the world calls it _football._ I don’t know where this _soccer_ business came from either.” 

“Do you play?” asks Max, staring up at Cassian with his large, round eyes.

“I used to,” replies Cassian, and he can’t help but think of his all too brief childhood in Mexico. He remembers games of five-a-sides on the street in front of his grandmother’s house, with his friends from the area, before everything had gone awry. “I wasn’t very good.” 

“Were you a striker?”

“A midfielder.”

“I like Lionel Messi,” says Max. 

Cassian smiles. “I bet you do.”

“Do you want to play with me?”

The boy’s mother moves down from the steps. “Max, I don’t think you should - ” 

“No, it’s fine,” says Cassian. “I’m pretty free.”

A voice, which sounds very much like Kay’s, echoes through his mind: _Who are you and what have you done with Cassian Andor?_

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she says. 

“No, I want to,” says Cassian quickly. He holds the woman’s gaze. “Well, if it’s okay with you. I don’t want to play with him if you think I’m going to kidnap him.”

She winces. “I overreacted the other day.”

“Clearly.”

“I’m a single mom. It’s a new city, a new place.”

“And you thought I was a child predator,” drawls Cassian, and the dryness of his tone makes her eyes flash angrily again. 

“I’m not going to apologise,” she says stubbornly, and she looks so incredibly fierce that Cassian can’t help but grin at her. 

_Oh god, am I trying to flirt with her?_

“I’m Cassian,” he says, thrusting a hand forward. She stares down at it as though he is offering her a live grenade and not a handshake. 

“Max and I…” she says, frowning, “we don’t really do _friends._ ”

_Neither do I._

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” 

She studies him for a moment and he can’t read a single thought that is swimming in her green eyes. Then - 

“Jyn.” 

She takes his hand and squeezes it lightly. And the thrill that rushes through his body at the touch is as surprising as it is pleasant.

 

* * *

 

The next time Cassian sees her and her little boy, it is late on a Friday night. He is coming home from work, too exhausted to even walk straight. But there she is, in the doorway of number 3B, her tank top drenched with sweat and her hair all over the place. Max is gripping her leg, eyes wide with fright. There is smoke coming from inside their room. 

Cassian pauses on the landing. “Um..are you guys okay?”

“Mama tried to cook,” Max pipes up. “The oven exploded.”

“Max, the oven didn’t explode,” corrects Jyn sharply. Cassian can swear that she is a little embarrassed; she doesn’t quite meet his eye. “I left the roast in there for too long. That’s all.” 

“Can I help?” asks Cassian, trying desperately not to smile. 

This makes her glare at him, as though she is daring him to laugh.“No, thank you. I’ve got it covered.”

“Well, did you get the fire extinguisher?” 

“The place is _not_ on fire! There’s just - ” 

“A lot of smoke.” 

Her glare intensifies. “I didn’t - ”

“We can’t find the fire extinguisher!” Max pipes up again. 

Jyn practically seethes. “Max!”

Cassian chuckles. “Come on, Max. Let go of your mother’s leg and come with me. We’ll go get the fire extinguisher from downstairs.”

Jyn swears under her breath as Max runs to Cassian. And Cassian, to his enormous credit, only gives Jyn a hint of a smile as he walks pass her. Because, of course, he can’t act _too_ happy about the whole situation. After all, he’s not _that_ pathetic. 

 

* * *

 

What follows is six whole months of them meeting randomly in the hallway or on the stairs. There are some weekends when he plays kick-about with Max in the yard while Jyn sits and watches from the steps. They greet and talk politely enough whenever they run into each other. He helps her with her groceries sometimes. Lends her some of his milk very rarely. But he wouldn’t consider her a _friend._ Maybe an acquaintance of sorts. A neighbour with a very cool kid who looks like she is always angry with him. 

He doesn't think about her that often when he doesn’t see her. Not really. Well, he spares her a brief thought when he sees a little boy riding pass his precinct on a bicycle one Thursday afternoon, but that’s it. He swears. He is a serious person, goddamn it. She is not the reason he lingers around in the hallway longer than is necessary every time he unlocks his door. 

Honestly, she’s not. 

 

* * *

 

It is late on a Monday night. Very late. Nearly around midnight when Cassian returns from work. He opens the gate, slips into the complex and the first thing he sees is this: Jyn sitting on the steps in front of the apartment building, smoking. 

He freezes immediately. She doesn’t see him yet; the place is dark and he is half-hidden in shadows. She is wearing pyjamas bottoms and the same tank top he caught her in during that whole fire fiasco. Her hair, usually tied in a pony tail, is up in a messy bun, and she looks younger than he has ever seen her. She seems smaller, more alone, a little like she is in the middle of some very private thing he’s not supposed to intrude upon. 

He wishes he could go into the building without her noticing him. But it’s too late. He must have made a sound because she spots him and she lifts an eyebrow in surprise.

“You’re late,” she says simply. 

“Excuse me?”

“It’s almost midnight.” She pauses. “You don’t usually get home this late.”

He thanks the stars for the semi-darkness because he is pretty sure his cheeks heat up at her words. 

_Damn it, man, pull yourself together!_

“I didn’t know you noticed,” he manages to say quietly, walking toward her. 

She shrugs. “I hear you come in sometimes. What of it?” Then, as he moves out of the shadows and into the light, she gasps. “Jesus. Whatever happened to your face?”

_Fuck._ He’s forgotten about it entirely. His fingers brush over the bruise and the swelling black eye. “Oh, yeah. One of the guys we arrested tonight managed to get a few punches in.”

“Does this happen often?”

“No.” She gives him a pointed look. He sighs. “Occasionally.” 

“Wait here,” she says and drops her cigarette to the ground.

“What -”

But she has already gotten to her feet and bounded up the stairs.

Cassian is rooted to the spot for a moment, looking at her retreating back, feeling torn between laughing and cursing. He could just go up to his flat before she comes back down. Avoid the disaster that will _surely_ follow altogether. After all, he tells himself, they are just neighbours - no strings attached and no obligation to get to know each other at all…

Yet he finds himself sitting down on the steps against his better judgement. He is not simply being nice; he thinks he knows why he is doing this, which is a problem in and of itself.

This is all very inconvenient. Exceptionally so. 

She comes back down a few minutes later with an ice pack in her hand. 

“Here.” She thrusts it at him. “For your face.” 

“Thanks.” 

She sits down next to him, and there are only a couple of inches in the space between them. If he moves a fraction to his left, their knees will touch. He doesn’t move. 

“You don’t have an ice pack at your precinct?”

His mouth tightens. “Let’s say it’s not that big of a deal.” He presses the cold pack to his swollen cheek and almost winces at the contact. “Why do _you_ have one?”

“I have a five year-old son?”

“Fair enough.”

She takes out a new cigarette from her pack and lights it. He watches her for a second as she brings it to her lips and inhales.

“I didn’t know you smoke.” 

“I only smoke when I’m stressed.” 

A pause. Somehow, the moment seems entirely too breakable, and his entire body is tense from trying not to move, as though even a twitch from him could shatter the stillness. 

“So…” he says eventually, “what are you stressed about?”

“There’s this thing at Max’s school tomorrow.” She frowns, not looking at him. “A parent-teacher conference.” 

“Oh.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“Jyn, I don’t think you need to worry. Max’s a good kid.”

“Of course Max’s a good kid. That’s not what I’m worried about.” She takes another long drag. Still refuses to look at him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She scoffs. Her lips curl into a smirk. “You say this to all the girls?”

“Just the ones that give me ice packs for my black eye.”

The corners of her mouth twitch. She brings the cigarette to her lips. Breathes in again. Eventually, she continues in a much softer and quieter tone. 

“Most of Max’s friends have both their parents. All these parents are older, wealthier, and they look at me like I’m…” She shrugs. “Well, suffice to say, when you’re a single mom like me, you’re everything to your child. Mother, father, friend. It can get...tough. Sometimes.” 

Cassian hesitates. “I never asked…” - he’s tried not to - “…but what happened with Max’s father?”

She lets out a laugh, sharp and humourless. “Max’s father is one drunken night I had when I was seventeen.” 

“So he’s not in Max’s life?”

“Would it repulse you if I said I didn’t know who he is?”

Cassian feels the impulse to smile. “You really don’t? Or are you saying that just to shock me?”

She doesn’t reply, but turns to look at him. And he thinks it is one of those things he can’t get enough of about her - that blazing, daring, unreadable power she has going on. It scares him, he admits it. But he has always been one for running headlong into things he is scared of anyway. 

“When you’re a single parent,” she says instead, “it means there’s more chance of you fucking up.” 

“I don’t think you’re fucking up.” 

There is no mistaking the startled look on her face, and he realises, with anger and sadness, that this is probably the first time she’s ever heard this from anyone.

“Thanks,” she mutters. 

He lifts up the ice pack awkwardly. “Well, thank _you_ for this.”

And this is the moment when he gets what he’s been (secretly) hoping for for months: a rare, genuine smile she throws his way. 

 

* * *

 

Two days later, there is a knock on Cassian’s door, and he opens it to find Jyn standing in his doorway. This time, she is dressed more appropriately in a pair of jeans and a blue sweater. She has make-up on, like she is about to go out, and her hair is swept into her usual pony tail. 

He hadn’t known it was possible, but he swears his heart jumps to his throat at the sight of her. _Damn it._

“Is the oven on fire again?” he blurts out.

She rolls her eyes. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

“Oh, I try.” He smiles and runs his hand through his hair because he has to do _something._ “So…um….”

“Cassian, listen…” She bites down on her bottom lip - _don’t stare, you idiot! -_ and he notices, for the first time, how nervous she looks. “We…um…Max, that is…he’s in a play at his school. Peter Pan. He is playing ‘Lost Boy Number Four’.” 

“Ah. Definitely a much better role than ‘Lost Boy Number Three’ _._ ”

“Exactly. And we…uh…we got an extra ticket for, you know, for a family friend…”

“Oh!” _Fuck, is he blushing?_

“Yeah, it’s for this Saturday evening. I don’t know if you’re busy or - ”

“No, I’m not.”

“We don’t know anyone else in town and Max likes you and - ”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll be there.” 

“Really? Because he’ll understand if - ”

“Jyn, I’ll be there.” 

She exhales with relief and, damn it, why is it so hard for them to look each other in the eye without getting flustered? 

“Max will be delighted,” says Jyn. “I’ll…uh…we’ll see you downstairs on Saturday at five?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you at five.” 

 

* * *

 

He goes down fifteen minutes before five because he is a hopeless fool. And this is after he has tried on three different combinations of outfits. Eventually, he settles for a casual look. A pair of dark jeans, a crisp white t-shirt and a light summer jacket. He had shaved earlier this morning, and when Jyn and Max come down at a little after five, she halts for a moment when she sees him. 

“Wow. You look…nice.”

“Well, _you_ look great.”

She does. Of course she does. He thinks she always looks nice, but there is something different about her in a green dress which matches her eyes, a pair of black heels, and her brown hair fanning around her naked shoulder blades. To be honest, she takes his breath away, and he could stare at her for a while yet. But then, Max tugs on his sleeve and jolts him awake. 

Did she notice how his eyes were lingering? Jesus Christ, he hopes not!

“Hey there, little man,” says Cassian, giving Max’s shoulder a tap in return. 

“I’m ‘Lost Boy Number Four’,” says Max matter-of-factly.

“Yes, I’ve heard,” says Cassian. “And you’re in your costume already!”

Max grins. The boy is decked out in a tattered school boy uniform, his tie ripped and askew, his cap set precariously on top of his mop of curls. 

“Oh shit!” Jyn cries out suddenly. 

“What?”

“Mama, you’re not supposed to curse!”

“I’m sorry, darling, but _damn it_ \- I forgot our tickets upstairs. _”_

“You’re always forgetting stuff,” pines Max. 

“I know, baby. But Mama is trying to change. Stay with Cassian, okay? While I run back up?”

She gives Max a quick kiss on the cheek before heading back up the stairs. Chuckling to himself, Cassian crouches down so he can look Max straight in the eye.

“You’re excited for the show, buddy?”

“Not really,” replies Max, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“I only have one line.”

"Well, you can still be excited even though you only have one line.”

“But I know my line. I practiced. So I’m not excited,” says Max proudly. “But Mama is very excited.”

“Really? Why’d you say that?”

“She tried on seven outfits today. It was _boring._ ”

Cassian shouldn’t be smiling this much. He really shouldn’t.

Jyn chooses to reappear at this exact moment, three tickets clutched in her hand. Something flickers in her expression when she catches sight of Cassian’s smile and she looks away hastily.

“What?” she asks, a hint of a blush creeping up her cheeks. 

Cassian shrugs. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

 

* * *

 

They return home nearly four hours later after a somewhat chaotic performance of _Peter Pan,_ followedbya much more enjoyable trip to the nearby Pizza Hut. Cassian is now carrying a sleeping Max in his arms. The boy had fallen asleep in the car ride back from the restaurant where the three of them had shared a large pepperoni pizza and two milkshakes. 

Jyn pauses at the gate and rips off her heels.

“Thank god, we’re home,” she says irritably. “These blasted shoes, I swear. I want to burn them.”

“I think you look nice in them,” says Cassian, casually enough. But if she noticed the strangeness in his tone, she doesn’t comment on it. She leads them upstairs, unlocks number 3B, and he follows her inside. 

It is not the first time he has been in Jyn’s flat - again, the fire incident comes to mind - but after she has switched on the lights, he can’t help but notice how much _cleaner_ everything looks. Jyn’s books, instead of scattered on the dining table and the kitchen counter, are neatly stacked up in a new cupboard by the window. Max’s toys are not littered on the floor, but stored in a large plastic box in a corner. The pillows on the sofa look like they have been fluffed, the curtains washed, and there aren’t random pieces of clothing hanging from lampshades and chairs anymore.

Not for the first time this evening, Cassian wonders how difficult it would be to kick himself. He is bad at this. _So_ very bad. Has he been misreading all the signs? Or were those signs even signs at all? 

His chest tightens dreadfully. “You…uh…you’re expecting company?”

“Yes,” replies Jyn, tossing her shoes onto the floor and avoiding his gaze.

“Oh.” He hopes to god his voice comes out steady. “Who?”

She shrugs, still not looking at him properly, and says, “Max’s bedroom is this way.” 

She opens the door to their right and flicks on the light to reveal her son’s room. It is small, with only a snug little bed, a few sports posters on the walls, and a couple of stuffed animals and lego pieces on the carpeted floor.

Jyn begins kicking these toys out of the way while Cassian carries Max to the bed and lies him down. 

“Can you take off his shoes?” asks Jyn, her eyes sweeping over the floor. 

“Yeah, sure.”

Carefully, Cassian takes off Max’s sneakers and puts them down at the foot of the bed. And silently, without looking at each other, he and Jyn get Max out of his Lost Boy’s costume and into his pyjamas. Cassian ends up being the one who tugs Max in while Jyn switches off the lights.

“Thanks,” she mumbles once she has snapped Max’s bedroom door shut behind them. “He had a really good time today.”

“Yeah, the play was really something.”

“Yes, the boy who played Peter Pan was really awful.” 

Cassian grimaces. “So awful.”

“But Max was great though.” 

“Yes, with his _one_ line.” 

“And the pizza was good.”

“Yeah, the pizza was good.”

She smiles, and he smiles back, and they end up looking at each other like that for a while. Unsure. Hesitant. Afraid.

Then, suddenly, she blurts out, “I don’t want to complicate things for Max.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to complicate things for my son…if this is not going to work out.”

He inhales far too deeply. So he _hasn’t_ been misreading the signs after all. And, oh god, this is what it feels like. He can hardly think straight; his heart squeezes in a way that’s too unfamiliar to be comfortable. 

“Jyn, I can’t - I can’t promise you that.” And he is barely able to get the words out. “At least not now.” 

Jyn stares at him blankly and then tugs a strand of hair behind her ear. For a fraction of a second, she looks disappointed. But he tells himself - convinces himself - that he must be imagining things. 

“Okay. Fine,” she says flatly, and her tone twists like a knife in his gut. “Then goodnight, Cassian.”

“Goodnight, Jyn.” 

She walks with him to the door, but he lingers there after she has opened it for him. 

She looks like she is angry with him again. (He thinks she always is, somehow.) Of course he doesn’t blame her. He is pretty sure he deserves it. But he still wants nothing more than to close the distance between them and kiss her. He wants to run his hand through her soft hair. Wants to take her into her bedroom and draw moans and whimpers and laughter from those lips he has been dreaming about far too much… 

But she is right. He can’t complicate things for her and Max. Not when he can’t promise her anything yet and not when he is still a goddamn mess of a human being with too much baggage. 

“So,” he says quietly, “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you around.”

Maybe this is not the right time for them. Not yet. But he is going to make damn sure the right time is not too far away.

After all, Cassian Andor is many things, but he is not a quitter. 

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> I know. This is such a mess. It was supposed to be fluffy, but it turned a bit angsty in the end because it's me and I'm in a weird place in my life. I'm sorry! Please let me know what you thought!


End file.
